Colours of Wolfsong
by India Squirrel
Summary: Roger has been quenched. For three years, the jewel has held all Tortall in its thrill. But in the mountains, trouble is stirring once again. And this time, the fight is not survival: but for Alanna...
1. Default Chapter

Like a demon dressed in the colours of winter, the wind rattled down though the empty mountains into the sleeping village. The night had fallen: tired, heavy, strong, filling the air with inescapable darkness. The moon had hidden in the clouds to keep warm: the villagers had locked their doors and pulled the shutters closed. Already the houses were encased in a coral thin layer of snow.

Only one figure, the night watchman, disturbed the snowy silence of the darkness. Back and forth he tramped through the sleeping village, passing the lonely houses one by one, his lantern on his pole high above him. A fur-lined hood obscured his features and his hands were encased in leather gloves. Against the snow he stood out starkly: black and alone, watched only by the eyes of the night birds and the passing black bear.

But far above the village, in the mountain pass, other eyes were watching.

Dark, cold eyes that glinted fiercely and shone as they regarded the illuminated watchman.

Voices whispered in a strange, secret language. Rough tongues chattered and gabbled, muted by the falling snow. A band of maybe two score men, huddled in the curve of the mountain, out of the way of the dragon wind. Their cloaks lay flat and silent around their shoulder: brown hoods covered their shrewd features.

Two metres away stood their leader. Fully in sight, bombarded by the wind, he lifted his head to look up at the clouded heavens.

'Give me guidance in what I do, Great Mother.'

Below, the watchman stamped his feet and rubbed together his hands. He longed for a cup of hot coffee or chocolat, and the warmth of his bed and wife. The cold had covered his eyes with the longing for warmth: he did not glance at the slopes above. But the man there saw him, and knew him, like a friend of twenty years. Amber eyes flared.

And a cruel face twisted into a smile.


	2. Amber Musicians and Dancing Doves

Alanna hovered nervously behind Prince Jonathon, her tawny hair blown awry by the mischievous wind. Her sharp purple eyes flicked over the gathered revellers.

'Quite a crowd, Jon. You didn't even have this many for the coronation.'

Jon held a winning smile and raised a hand to wave, speaking out of the side of mouth to his champion.

'No need to be cynical, lioness. This is the first thing we've had to celebrate since Roger was killed. Let them celebrate. Three years of chaos is a long time.'

Alanna glanced edgily at a group of minstrels partying at the edge of the crowd.

'Well its three years of chaos that has made me miserable. I tell you, Jon, I won't be sad when this is over. Minstrels drive me mad.'

Jon's smile flickered ever so slightly.

'I know you hate responsibility, Alanna, but try to put a brave face on it, even if only for Thayet's sake.'

Both turned to where the beautiful Queen was showing off her new baby to the crowd. As though she could feel them, she turned slightly, and smiled at them. Her whole face lit up, making her even more beautiful than she normally did, dressed as she was in a soft velvet dress of pale pink that annunciates her big dark eyes. The pregnancy had been a hard one, and to those who knew her she looked thin and drawn. But to Alanna, that just made her friend seem more beautiful and wonderful than ever. In her arms, the baby gurgled happily. Jon laughed, and behind him Ralph let out a deep booming chuckle. Even Alanna let her face relax into a smile.

'She's going to be a brilliant mother. I'm sure she is.'

Jonathon gave a happy sigh.

The scene at Corus was a brighter one that had been seen for a long time. The main square had been decked in banners and pennants, and brightly coloured bunting was hung all around the shops and taverns. Everyone in Corus had turned out for the day: it would be a day of many colours, of feasting, of drinking and dancing, well into the early hours of the next day. A new heir was something to be celebrated: especially such a fine, strong baby.

Even the royal party shone with colour. The king's own stood all around, dressed in royal blue. In front of them stood Alanna, resplendent in ceremonial dress with her lioness shield balanced carefully on one arm, her copper hair flaring out from her head. Then there was Jonathon: tall, astute, sapphire eyed, pale and dark haired. A true monarch, Alanna though proudly, watching him way at the crowd.

He turned slightly to glance at her, as though he could feel her amethyst eyes.

'Is it Ok for me to...'

She threw her hands up in despair.

'Oh, go on, then, you great soft thing! Honestly, there's no point trying to keep you safe – you're just desperate to get yourself into a situation!'

He laughed slightly, and boyish humour danced in his eyes.

'Thank you, my lady.'

Taking off his heavy ceremonial coronet, King Jonathon descended from the high staging to where Thayet was showing off young Prince Roald to the crowd. Alanna waited until he was gone before letting her secret smile show in her eyes. It amused her to see Jonathon with his child: eager, boyish, slightly awkward. He despised not knowing everything. She'd heard him muttering at the child's cries during an informal meeting to plan the celebration.

'Well, it's good for him,' she murmured decidedly. 'His opinion of himself is strong enough that a little knock here and there won't do him to much harm.'

She raised her chin and looked for George among the crowd.

George, however, was not in the crowd. The baron of Pirate's Swoop, husband of Lady Alanna and former king of thieves had been gone from his home city for many months, trying to make alliances with Maren and Sarain. Now, having excused himself from the ceremony, he was staking out a few of his old haunts and looking for faces he knew.

Corus changed little with the passing seasons. The great palace was still there in the centre: the roads still wound and meandered in twisting circles and tight corners: the poor people still set up stalls along the main streets and called their wares to passer bys. Even though George carried a full purse in his knapsack, he did not stop to study the little shops. He was aimed for another place. A very specific place.

As he left the main celebrations, his boots began to click on the cobbles. Here the roads were less well kept. The stones were left jagged. No wheels passed this way, so the Guild of Pathmakers saw little reason to spend precious gold on replacing stones fine for walking over. George followed the street on its twisting way, until finally he reached an old inn, listing sideways as though it had drunk its own ale. Above the door hung a faded sign: the dancing dove.

George put his ear against the door, listening for voices inside. He heard none. For a moment he wondered if everyone was at the feast. But it didn't feel right. It was to quiet, to empty. The door hung limply on its hinges. The weight of time seemed to be dragging the whole building into the ground. No one had come this way for many weeks.

'You won't find anyone there, man.'

George turned in shock.

Leaning against the wall behind him was a young man, resplendent in a dark green tunic and brown breeches. He was dressed like a merchant would, but at his waist he wore three daggers: two ordinary, bone handled ones, but one really beauty: carved ivory, set with mother of pearl. But it was the man's eyes that captivated George. They were deep eyes, deep green, like an ocean, and the seemed to go down forever in his face. George swallowed, wondering briefly how he'd not heard the man coming.

'Why wouldn't I find anyone?'

The man turned his head and spat into the gutter, then glanced at George to see how he'd react. George didn't bat an eyelid. But he knew that to this youngster, he appeared a noble, born and bred. Well, maybe he would use a noble trick to get his information.

'I've got three silvers from information about this building.'

That got the man's head up. He made it look like he wasn't too interested, but there was a greedy sparkle in his eyes. George could almost feel the cool mind, calculating how much he could make.

_He's clever_, thought George, _but something about him makes my skin crawl._

'Three gets what three deserves.'

George bit his lip, putting on a careful charade of bewilderment.

'How much do you want?'

'Eight. Take it or leave it.'

'I take it.'

George reached in his pocket and pulled out the silver pieces one at a time. He made a show of hunting around for the last two. Finally, he handed them over to the young man.

The receiver nodded at the building.

'It's just an old tavern. Hasn't been used for two years now, except for the odd bit of trade. It's so way out, no one ever gets here.'

He made to leave, but George caught his wrist and his eyes.

'Why is it deserted?'

The man glanced round, then leaned conspiritally towards him.

'The police say that it closed when the old owner died, but rumour has it the king of thieves used to live there. No one knows where he went: we don't even know if he's alive.'

George let his wrist go, and turned thoughtfully back to the tavern. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he turned sharply.

'Do you know who...'

But the young man was gone.

George shook his head. Honestly, three years of nobility and his wits deserted him! Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he headed back towards the main square.

Alanna yawned slightly as the sun began to rush into her eyes. She felt hot and scratchy and irritable in her heavy cloak. Desperately, she signalled to Jon with her eyebrows to try and persuade him to let her out, but he returned her look with one of such severity that she gave up.

Soon the sun would go down, and they could go back to the palace for the feast. At least then she could relax in her chair and argue with Raoul and Gary about the finer points of fencing, instead of standing like an ornament all day in full view of the world.

She turned slightly to stop the sun getting in her eyes, and looked down on the minstrels, still celebrating after the day. One of them was stood slightly apart, and she watched him curiously. He was taking a lute from the case on his back.

'Oh great,' she muttered. 'Now we have bad singing too.'

The minstrel began to pluck at the strings and sing in a high, reedy voice. She didn't recognise the words: they could have been from one of the northern tribes, or even Shang codal training words. But the tune was pleasant, and she let herself be lulled by the gentle notes. Jonathon turned slightly in appreciation: his dark head bobbed gently in time to the music. Slowly the square fell silent as all turned to the musician.

Alanna watched him with interest. The way his fingers found their way so surely over the strings intrigued her. She studied him as any woman would, though with more frankness. He was nice looking: tanned skin, shock of dark hair. The music spun like a web over the crowd, catching each one, drawing them in. Alanna breathed deeper and more slowly, letting it wash over her and fill her with light joy.

And then the musician looked and her.

His eyes, sharp amber, caught hers and drilled into them. His face was vicious: not the gentle triumph of someone who makes music and enjoys it, but the harsh anger of someone who searches for victory. She could feel him reaching inside: all the time his fingers were making gentle music, but his heart and brain were challenging her, trying to force her under his thumb...

The song ended. A strange stillness held the square in its thrill for a brief moment. Then Jonathon raised his hands and began to applaud. The whole square followed. For a second, the musician held Alanna's eyes. Then he turned, released her, rose to accept the applause of the square.

Alanna could only stand, shaken and worried, listening to the frenzied applause.

Somehow, while holding the audience with his music, he had met her. He had known her and he had challenged her.

But who was he?

And what did he want with the Lioness of Tortall?


	3. News from the mountains

Thousands of miles from the rustling energy of Corus, Miles of Olau put the final touches to his manuscript.

Alanna's adopted father leant back with a happy sigh, regarding the bushel of papers with joy. His bushy beard gave him the appearance of a pleased baby, and his dark eyes twinkled happily. Quickly, deftly, he corrected a spelling with black ink and added a line to one of the clever drawings dotted around the page.

'Eleni!' he called, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. There was a pause, then footsteps sounded on the stairs and Eleni Cooper, his wife, came into the room.

'What is it, Miles? I'm trying to supervise the early apple picking.'

He stood up, the bundle of papers tucked safe under one arm.

'It's finished, Eleni! The complete history of the quest for the Dominion Jewel and the vanquishment of the evil in Tortall! Written down in pen and ink, so it shall never be forgotten.'

Eleni looked less than impressed. Her husband's obsession with the past was something that she had never properly understood.

'Well thank goodness for that. Now, when Alanna and the boys visit after the coronation, you can sort the roof on the outer conservatory.

'Eleni,' Miles said reproachfully. 'You cannot make the king of Tortall go climbing up onto the roof of a house like some sort of intelligent monkey. It's just not done.'

'I don't see why I shouldn't – him and my George and your Alanna seem to like nothing better than crawling round on things and getting into scrapes. Besides, it would be nice to see the lads getting some good exercise. All that wine and fine food will have turned their heads.'

Even though Alanna was married to her son, Eleni still classed her as one of the lads. It couldn't really be helped: when Alanna wasn't off questing into the far corners of Tortall or hounding out renegades in Sarain, she was fencing with Jonathon or sea kayaking in the treacherous straits off Port Cayn. Being halfway between the two sexes, she enjoyed an amount of freedom that most people envied.

Miles wrinkled his brow thoughtfully.

'Yes. I suppose so.' He sounded doubtful. Sending the holder of the Tortall throne onto the roof was over the top, even in his unorthodox opinion. 'When does the party arrive?'

'No party, dear. Just the three of them, and Coram. They're going to make a ride of it, Alanna said in her letter. Thayet's following in a more dignified way. She'll be here on Monday. You might have got the roof finished by then, and we can have a bit of fun. But I think she said they would be arriving the day after tomorrow.'

Miles' leapt up in shock.

'The day after tomorrow! Great mother, Eleni, we haven't anything ready! We'll have to clean the stables and make up the guest room – both the guest rooms – and get that new Shang chef from the town! My goodness, we'll never be ready in time!'

Eleni sniffed, and swished her skirts around her waist.

'Speak for yourself. I've been ready for three days now. Some of us handle our time in a wiser manner.'

She headed for the door, but then paused suddenly.

'Oh yes, there's a man to see you.'

Miles forced himself to look interested. Although he was a great merchant, after being immersed in the history of the dominion jewel, the worries of peasant farmers always seemed a bit of a comedown.

'Oh really? When did he arrive?'

'Last week. But I knew that while you were within sniffing distance of the end of that manuscript, we wouldn't see hide nor hair of you until the whole thing was done. I've been putting him up in the gardener's cottage – he seemed to be happier there.'

Miles walked over to the door and kissed Eleni heartily on both cheeks.

'My darling, I don't know what I'd do without you. Send him up immediately, and then as soon as whatever needs dealing with is dealt with, I will come and ride with you down to the village and pay this amazing chef out of my large bag of money.'

Eleni giggled and blushed.

'You're impossible, Miles.'

Miles waved her out of the room, then lit his pipe and sat in his chair, smoking and smiling. He always found that, although the manuscript was intriguing, nothing gave him greater pleasure than his wife and adopted daughter. Except maybe his recently acquired son. Or Prince Jonathon and Thayet.'

There was a nervous knock on the door, and a thin face peered around it. Miles glanced at it without any trace of curiosity, then looked again and sat bolt upright. He beckoned the man inside, and quickly poured him a glass of best brandy, seating him in one of the easy chairs tucked neatly out of sight in the corner of the room.

Then he ran to the window and carefully closed the heavy drapes, so no one could look in from the wide ledge outside. He opened the door and dismissed the servant standing there, then carefully closed and locked it, giving a cursory peer through the keyhole. Finally satisfied, he seated himself in the other chair, taking another draw on his pipe.

'What news, Pevril?'

The man glanced around, as though the walls might have ears, then leant forward.

'Mostly good, my lord. We've subdued the rebellion in the mountains, and my sources rumbled an assassination attempt on the king, may he live forever. We've got them sacred: we find out everything. But I think we're earning there trust...at least, I hope we are.'

Miles collapsed back, setting up dust from the back of his chair.

'Thank the mother! I thought we were going to face civil war from the mountains. Pour yourself another brandy, man, you deserve it.'

Pevril reached eagerly for the bottle, and then paused. His thin face clouded slightly.

'There is one thing, my lord.'

Miles glanced at him over the top of the glass.

'What is it? Come on, spit it out.'

The man toyed with the bottle.

'It just...there are strange things going on. Villages are being attacked. One of our patrols stumbled on it the other day. The houses were empty, but there were no bodies anywhere. Everything was just...gone.'

Miles looked puzzle.

'You mean taken?'

'No, lord. There was blood on the floor, human blood, and the houses were charred and burned as though from fire. And dead animals were everywhere. The place was the scene of a great killing: but there is nobody dead. It's a puzzle. But more to the point, it has my men scared. They think there are phantoms in the mountains. They are terrified to go up there.'

Miles swilled his brandy thoughtfully, then reached into his pocket and pulled out three gold coins.

'Have six barrels of Trebond port send up to the soldiers serving in the mountains, and offer each on a pay rise for the good work they are doing. That should win them over.'

Pevril took the gold and bowed.

'You're too generous, Sir Miles.'

Miles waved him away. One hand was back at his beard, not stroking it, but pulling at strands of hair, as he did when he was puzzled.

'These disappearing villages – could you keep an eye on it for me, and tell me if you hear any news? Anything at all, I want to know. There may be some snippet of conversation that will fit together with another snippet and create something of vital importance.'

Pevril stood and bowed.

'It will be done. Is that all, my lord.'

Miles nodded.

'Unless you have anything else to tell me. Eleni will find you some food and drink before you start the journey back.'

'You are kind.'

The thin-faced man headed for the door, then stopped. He winked at Sir Miles, his face far more mischievous that his subservient voice. Then, making a big show of pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he blew his nose loudly. But Miles wasn't interested in that. He was interested in the piece of paper that fell from the man's pocket.

As Pevril let the door swing close, Miles reached forward and picked up the paper. It was carefully folded, and printed on the outside were the words:

'From a friend.'

His eyebrows questioning, Miles opened the note. His eyes ran down the page, then widened in excitement and delight.

'Well, well, well!'

He read the note twice, then tucked it in his pocket. He brushed a hand through his greying hair. Quickly, he stood up, and walked across the room to the window, where he opened the drapes with a great flourish. His eyes were sparkling with excitement, and under his breath he was humming. Staring out of the window, a though came to him, and his smile widened with delight.

'I wonder what my Lioness will make of you, my dear!'


	4. Ravenspell

The figure stood high upon the crag, like a fell raven watching the world far below. His cloak whipped about it, sewn in rags and covered in crusts of filth and blood. The cold face of the figure was filled with elation as it stared down from the mountains into the kingdom of Tortall.

They were so close. After years of waiting, finally they were ready to take the final steps, to plunge into the final battle. Soon, now, so, so soon, they would be prepared to dive into Tortall and make their names known to the world.

The amber eyes glinted like bloody steel.

He turned to his followers, standing ringed around the fire far below, waiting on his word. He spread his arms wide.

'Let us begin.'

...

Alanna was the first to rise that morning. She crept out of the tent she shared with George and stood in the roadway, squinting as she stared up at the sun. Her back and thighs were protesting the long day spent in the saddle, and under her breath she cursed the bureaucracy that kept her so long in Corus.

Tortall was beautiful, she realised, standing in the dust of the road. The first blossom of spring was taking hold. Trees were bursting into new leaf and there were nest and hides dotted among the branches. A single magnolia tree had exploded into pale life, huge, globelike flowers drooping at the end of branches, to heavy for their thin stems.

Taking a towel from Moonlight's saddlebags, Alanna kicked the two tents, making sure the men inside were awake.

'I'm going down to take a bath, so no peeking, do you here?'

She was answered with a weak groan. Laughing, she kicked the tent again and set off through the woods.

She took a short, quick bath in the cold stream, showering her hair under one of the many tiny waterfalls dotted along its length. It felt good to have a cold bath again. The huge hot baths in Corus were wonderful in winter, but the palace servants would insist on scenting the water with spices and herbs, until you felt like you were swimming through a large, sweet smelling swamp of lavender and rosemary.

It was when she was rubbing her hair dry that she first felt that she was being watched.

She spun round, pulling her loose cloak tight around her, to hide her body.

'George?'

No answer came from the leaning trees.

Alanna's temper began to surface, and she crossed her arms tightly, scanning the trees for any sign.

'George, I am really not in the mood for this. Quit playing around.'

Still no answer. But the trees seemed to press in on her, hemming her in with their dark branches. She was finding it hard to breath: the air rasped in her throat, and buzzed in her ears. There was no noise at all. But she could feel eyes upon her, running up and down her body, weighing her up.

Cold amber eyes. Fingers running over lute strings.

She banished the thought, but could not stop a shiver running through her. Suddenly, the silver stream did not seem so inviting. She wished she was back on the road with George and Jonathon, and miles from the leaning pines.

Pulling her clothes on, she through her towel over her shoulder and almost ran up the bank.

...

There was a slight stirring in the circle as the image faded in the fire. Faces turned back towards the leader, who stood rock still, high upon the crag. His voice soundly clearly in each closed mind.

'Begin the calling.'

There was a moment's complete silence. Then a sound worse and more deadly that any silence began to buzz in the howling wind. It rose up and up and up, into the slate grey sky, colouring the stars black and the moon deep, blood red.

The circle was singing.

...

Prince Jonathon mounted Darkness and pulled him round to face the road. The young monarch looked slightly uncomfortable on his dark horse.

'I'd forgotten how foul horse riding could feel.'

George laughed, one of his big, happy laughs that made everyone laugh with him. Alanna smiled slightly. She was still uncomfortable with the closeness of the trees. She wanted to go, and get to Miles and safety.

'I'll lead, shall I?'

She spurred Moonlight forwards over the stones, and her friends followed swiftly after. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see them: dark Jonathon on his dark horse, brown, tanned George on his russet filly Minstrel. Something about the two of them made her think of passed times, off adventuring together, and her heart ached slightly. She wondered how Coram was doing.

The road rose up over green hills, a long, rolling ridge of them, going on in the sky. In the distance, Alanna could just about see the start of Miles' many apple and grape orchards, and the single standing tower in the Old One's ruins, dark against the sky. The sun was bright cold: the sky sweet lavender blue.

For no reason at all, Alanna shivered.

...

The song went on, growing in power and magic. On top of the crag, the leader let the painful notes wash over him, like the snowmelt that rushed into the valleys in summertime. Then, holding his mind rigid, he began to pull the song to him.

He wound it in, dragged the notes close to him, each meaningless word cutting him like a knife. He embraced the pain, feeling its own embrace filling him with black joy. He dragged the very fibre of the song, reworking it, remaking it, breaking and rebuilding, until it was a single entity, invisible, miserable, crying with pain.

And then he cast it like a net, sending it rushing across the land.

...

Something was indefinably wrong.

Alanna rose on her heels as they jogged through barley fields, looking into the distance. She tried to work out why her nose was itching. There were no farms nearby, no workers or anything. No one could cast spells here – that was half the reason why they had chosen this route.

Her head began to ache, and her eyes watered miserably. She could feel power building up somewhere, could feel its threat in the distance. It was her bright amethyst power, or the pure of Jonathon's purple, but angrier, blacker, more...evil.

She raised her head and looked around. The countryside was beautiful. George and Jonathon had noticed nothing, but rode on behind her, chatting and arguing.

It was getting closer.

...

The figure on the crag guided it. He conjured an image in the fire, and filled the fire with such hate and anger that it burned deep red. In the fire rode three people: one golden, one dark, one brown. The golden one glowed with a kind of deep, amethyst light, like fire from within. The light was like a beacon: it called to the evil spell, dragging it from the depth of human conscious to the forefront of reality, where it rushed to bear down on the riders. The amber eyes glowed, the circle's song grew in passion and power, as they waited...

...

The power hit Alanna like a knife.

One minute she was riding. The next, a sudden sharp spasm of pain rushed through her. She cried out, trying to pull Moonlight to a halt. Her eyes watered and her head almost exploded, so fierce was the power that tried to pull her from her horse. Moonlight reared once, and then again, throwing Alanna to the floor. She curled up, trying to escape the lashing hooves, and behind her she could hear Jonathon shouting and George's rough voice trying to sooth the spooked horse.

...

The figure on the crag watched with cold joy as the figures tried to calm the bucking mare. It watched with something close to delight as the dark haired monarch helped up the young knight. And then, staring out into the distance at something no one else could see, it began to laugh.

And the laugh rose like ice into the empty wind.


	5. A warning at Olau

It was dark when the reached Olau.

Moonlight had been terrified, and had refused to be ridden. They had walked her all the way from where she had bucked Alanna, talking to her and stroking her soft mane. But it had taken nearly three hours for her ears to perk up and the white to disappear from her eyes.

None of the three talked about what had happened. Alanna knew that they were wondering about her sudden lack of horsemanship, but she didn't want to tell anyone about the power she had felt. He stomach still ached from where it had hit, and her head felt large and sore.

Eleni met them at the door, a lantern clasped in one hand, her face white and scared in the darkness.

'There you are!' she cried. 'We were wondering what had happened to you.'

Gratefully, George handed Minstrel's reigns to a stable boy.

'Moonlight bucked Alanna along the road. We've had to walk: I think the old lady's thrown a shoe.'

Eleni's face was flooded with concern.

'Nothing broken, I hope?'

Alanna shook her head, red with humiliation. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was see her adopted father. Miles knew everything. Miles would help her sort it out. She needed to know what had happened.

As though she knew what Alanna was thinking, Eleni beckoned them all inside. She caught the young knights arm as she went past.

'Miles says to go straight up to the office when you get here.'

The house at Olau was very different to the twisting corridors and ornate tapestries of Corus. The pathways were wide and empty, with large windows and pale walls, painted to hide the stone. Alanna walked quickly along the hallway, following her feet in the direction of Miles' office.

Putting her ear against it to hear if anyone was inside, she knocked three times. A low voice grumbled from inside.

'Come in.'

Alanna shoved the door open and slipped inside.

Miles turned to meet her, and his bearded face split into a smile. Lines crinkled around his sparkling eyes, and Alanna felt an odd wave of thankfulness and pride in her father.

'Alanna! What kept you?'

Moving across the room, she embraced him warmly.

'Moonlight started on the road. Something scared her and she threw me back.'

The excuse rolled so easily across her tongue that she felt almost guilty. The look Miles was giving her reminded her of the way Duke Gareth had looked at her when she was a page, being bullied half witless by Ralon of Malven, and yet still swearing that she had fallen here or tripped there. She looked at her feet. She could feel herself blushing.

Miles sighed, shaking his head.

'I know you young upstarts have often thought us elderly folk stupid, Alanna, but believe me, we do know some things. Age may not bring beauty, but it does bring wisdom.' He reached out with one hand and raised her chin so that she was looking into her eyes. 'Now, as we both know you were either lying or understating, why don't you tell me what really happened?'

Alanna looked into his eyes, and then, to her horror, she began to cry. Miles put an arm round her and made soothing noises. His beard tickled her face as he stood quietly next to her, waiting for her to explain.

When her tears had all poured out, and she reached the hiccupping stage, she took a deep breath and tried to explain.

'It was like...a power, building far away. It wasn't a gentle magic – it was like Duke Roger's – corrupted...malignant. It just grew and grew until it was unbearable, and then it snapped. But you know...well, you don't, but you can guess...when a spell snaps, it's usually because the maker's mind has snapped. But this spell was meant to break. And it just let loose this...hatred, that spilled through you. Moonlight could feel it and I could feel it. And it hurt, Miles.' She looked straight at him, her chin raised as though defying him to argue. 'It was more power than anyone since Thom passed on, I swear.'

Miles let her spill it out, then gave her another great bear hug. But above her head, where she couldn't see, his face was filled with concern. A building of power? Villages disappearing in a single night? The movement of tribes in the north? Something was seriously wrong.

But as Alanna raised her head, he smoothed the frown from his face and gave her a smile.

'My sources – and your highly intelligent husband's sources – are dotted all over the land, and beyond. If there's anything that needs knowing, we'll know.'

She trusted him implicitly. How could she not?

He squeezed her shoulder gently.

'Come on. Eleni's had dinner ready for nearly two hours, and she'll be mad if it spoils just because of a horse.'

Arms tight around each other, they left the room.

...

As the days passed, the memory of the events on the road began to fade. Olau in spring was beautiful, and as they spent many days wandering among the orchards and climbing to the roofs, and playing chess with Miles in the evenings, the memories began to take on a fuzzier, more distant hue, and Alanna berated herself for being so easily scared.

Thayet arrived with baby Roald, and the youngster was duly paraded between the local woman folk. The young prince was so pampered that Thayet scolded the farmer's wives for spoiling him. But as Alanna quipped, looking at the farmer's own rosy children, spoiling didn't seem to be doing to much harm.

The three weeks passed far to quickly – as some wise fool once said, time flies when you're having fun. All to soon, the bags were packed, Coram was readying the horses, and Miles was standing at the door with wistful eyes.

'You will have one more meal before you go?'

Thayet came to him with open arms.

'Miles, you know that nothing would give us greater pleasure.'

Eleni's new chef cooked up a feast for the royal party: chicken pie, tender lamb cutlets, a gorgeous dish of cheese and vegetables for those less inclined to heavy food. Miles broached a barrel of ale and they drank toasts to all kinds of things: the prince, the country, the jewel: even to their horses, who would carry them home. As the last morsels of food were cleared from the table, Miles stood and held up his hands.

'Friends, it has been my delight to host you here these few weeks – indeed, it saddens me that you could not stay longer. But as you must go, I wish you well upon your journey.'

'However, there is one piece of information that I was asked to give you before you wended your way back to Corus. I'm sorry I did not give you this before, but I was given specific instructions to tell you right at the end.'

'Next week, the Shang Falcon is coming to Corus.'

Alanna saw Jonathon's eyes widen. He seemed about to speak, but Miles raised a hand to stop him.

'Many of you do not know the Shang Falcon, but I'm sure you soon will. I was asked, by a messenger from them, for someone to come and meet them outside the city walls in the moorland just at the edge of the royal woodland. I do not know the reasons for this, but I'm sure it is very important that they are met by someone with a good knowledge in forest craft.'

For some inexplicable reason, his eyes turned to Alanna. Suddenly his voice became very grave.

'I do not know why someone as powerful as the Shang Falcon should come this way, but I'm sure that it is very serious, if not dangerous. I fear that this messy war set in motion by Duke Roger could not yet be gone. Therefore, I would like to propose a final toast.'

He raised his glass, his eyes solemn and sad.

'To life.'

Every voice in the room echoed his, so that the whole hall rang with voices.

'To life.'


	6. The Falcon

Ok, sorry this took so long, and I hope you haven't got bored waiting, but I had a few problems with everything and got sidetracks. Sorry!!!

…

Down in the lower reaches of Corus, the city was fast asleep and dreaming. The cobbled streets which rung with talk and laughter during the day were filled with empty silence. It was not a time of day to be out.

In the shadow of the old Dancing Dove inn, a young man stood, playing with his dagger and whistling cheerfully into the gloom. It was a strange, lonely sound in the rich darkness, that seemed to belong to another place, like an arrow the young man sent casting off into the darkness, and listening like a blind man for its strike.

He was often seen at this place, this young man. Many of the girls living in the surrounding houses had fallen for the sly smile and the deep green eyes, and been startled when they woke not by a warm man, but a purse of coins and a note of apology. He was lithe, and smooth, and graceful, but not as a lovable horse is. He was like a cheetah: smooth, and dangerous.

The young man stopped his whistling to spit into the alleyway next to the Dove. He closed his eyes and arched his back briefly to straighten his stiff neck.

'Come on, my love,' he whispered. 'It's not right to keep a dead man waiting.'

The whispered words fell like dead leaves to the floor.

…

Alanna was not in the best of tempers as she rode out the palace stables that morning. It was early, and she had missed her usual leisurely breakfast, and the strenuous workout that often followed it. Moonlight was fractious, pulling at the bit and refusing Alanna's control. And a cold spring breeze had come whistling through in the night, making the red tulips wilt and shiver.

Buri winked at her as she passed through the outer gate.

'Up early, lady lioness?'

Alanna could not help smiling at the tough guard, muffled and wrapped up as she was against the cold.

'Yes, sadly, Buri. No sleep for the wicked. Though if that's the case, why does George get to sleep in for the Mother knows how long?'

Buri bared her white teeth as she raised the gate.

'Enjoy your morning, Lady Lioness.'

Alanna trotted through, and out into sleeping Corus.

…

He heard the beats of the hooves from where he waited by the inn, even though she was a good hundred feet away. The morning carried noise better than any wind or messenger, and he straightened up quickly to go and meet her. One hand rested briefly on the dagger at his belt, and a thin smile crossed his face.

He moved silently, like a panther, creeping over the stones. His booted feet knew every tile and step of Corus. His tread was like an assassin: menacing and silent. Even in the darkness, he knew his way across the floor, and he knew where he and the rider would meet.

Alanna spurred Moonlight onward as they entered the lower quarters. Since the battle against Claw three years ago, she and George had been unwelcome in the lower quarters, though when they returned to their old haunts in their old dress, no one fought against their right to look around. But Alanna knew what would happen if she tried to use her friendships, or to pull rank.

She could feel that something was wrong. It was like the feeling in the woods, of someone watching you, and it raised hairs on the back of her neck. She kicked Moonlight briefly in the sides and speeded her up. Her eyes raked the empty streets. She knew they were there somewhere…

And almost as if they could feel her eyes, a figure stepped out from the dark alley, right into Moonlight's path.

The horse reared in shock, and her hooves rang against the stones. Alanna tried to pull her down, shushing and calming, but the horse would not be quieted. It was not until the figure raised a hand that the filly finally came to the ground.

Shaking with rage and fright, Alanna dismounted to confront the figure.

'What do you mean by this? Stepping out like that and scaring my horse! We could both have killed!'

The figure said nothing. In the darkness, she could not make out the face. Then he spoke, in a quiet voice.

'Are you the lioness?'

Alanna felt a buzz of annoyance. She was not in the mood to exchange pleasantries with a drunk peasant.

'Yes, and I'm on official lioness business. So would you like to get off the road?'

In the darkness, she could just see the glint of teeth, as though he were smiling. Then, with a sudden movement, the figure flicked his cloak back and she found that she could see him.

It was an old mage trick, light conjuring, and one that took little skill or effort. But somehow, seeing him by the light he held in his cupped hands, he seemed to grow and tower above her. In the red light emanating from between his fingers, she could see all of him: his long, catlike stance, his sharp cut face, his dark hair. But the part of him that caught her, that seemed familiar, was his deep, green eyes…

'Your eyes…' she whispered.

The man laughed, and there was a note of madness in his laughter.

'Something wrong, my love?'

A flood of fear filled her. She leapt back into Moonlight's saddle and kicked her into a gallop, sending her careering down the road like a juggernaut. Her auburn hair escaped from where she had bound it and flew round her head like a flock of crazed birds. And she could hear him laughing behind her, laughing all the time…

It was a good few miles before Alanna recovered her senses enough to pull Moonlight up to a walk, to climb off and stroke and sooth her. Looking back over the shoulder at the empty road, she gave a shudder of disgust. And in that disgust was fear.

After a few moments of panic, she took Moonlight's reigns in her hands and tried to get her bearings. When Jonathon had given her instructions last night – before he went of to BED, she thought bitterly – he had given her a detailed plan of the way to go – landmarks, etc. But in the semi-darkness, she knew she had lost her way.

Reaching inside, she sent a wave of purple mage fire over the darkness, and in the brief flash of light she saw a stunted tree leaning up into the horizon. In her memory, she remembered Jon saying something about a whole orchard of stunted apple trees that were used for cider brewing.

'Well,' she murmured. 'It's not like we can get any more lost.'

Encouraging the exhausted Moonlight and cursing Jonathon, she set off towards the orchard.

It took near on an hour to reach the orchard, and when she did she was sadly disappointed. The way Jonathon had described the route it had seemed short and somewhat pointless: but from here the cairn where she would meet the Shang Warrior was across the valley and through a whole woodland of twisted, stunted, creepy trees.

'Oh Lady,' Alanna mumbled. Moonlight whickered, and she hugged her briefly. 'Come on, girl, let's give it a go.'

As they travelled through the silent woodlands, Alanna found herself running over a list of things that she hated. Cold was one: dark was most definitely another. And trees, she decided, looking around at the stunted, creepy shapes around her. She really hated trees.

The darkness seemed to press in as they sunk into the woodlands, squeezing the air out of Alanna's body. She could feel Moonlight shivering, and carefully smoothed her main. In front of them, thicker forest loomed, before the steep rise up to the far side of the valley, where the moon hung silver bright against a black sky. A shiver of fear and longing ran down her spine. She wished she could be in the full glare of that moonlight!

A sudden movement in the bushes made her whip round, sending her cloak flashing behind her as her sword flew from its sheath. Her eyes raked the thick bands of black trunks that surrounded her: they flicked over the dark gaps between the trees and the thin threads of silver that reflected the moonlight. She could hear her own and Moonlight's harsh breathing, and her heart pounding in her ears…

Suddenly she was flying forward and her face was in the dust. With a cry of pain and shock, she rolled over and tried to grapple with her opponent. They were smaller than her: even in the darkness she could feel that, and she began to use tricks that George had taught her when she was trying to beat Ralon. The other figure yelled, and she buried her knees on his stomach and prepared to hit down…

'What in the name of Shang is going on?!'

Alanna felt a sharp pain in her back, and looked up to find a young woman staring at her in disbelief, digging a sword into her spine. The girl was tall and slim, and she looked as though she could use the blade she was holding.

'Get up,' the girl hissed. 'And move away.'

Alanna stood, dropping her sword and straightening up. The girl was holding a torch, and in its light she could see that the figure she had been fighting was little more than a dwarf. The little man was standing now, shaking out his tunic. The woman handed him the torch.

'What do you mean by attacking my servant?'

Alanna's anger boiled over.

'I didn't attack him!' she yelled. 'He attacked me!' The girl glanced at the dwarf, who lowered his eyes, and shook her head. She slowly lowered the sword.

'I'm sorry to frighten you, my lady.'

But Alanna was to far gone to be so easily placated. She raised herself to her full small height and narrowed her eyebrows.

'I don't know what the hell you're doing out here. Prince Jonathon's put a ban on this whole area for three days. There's a great warrior coming through, and if your…your…servant had attacked him, then he'd have been made mincemeat of!'

The dwarf and girl exchanged another glance. Then the girl leant forward. Her eyes were glinting.

'Tell me more about this warrior.'

Alanna looked the girl straight in the eyes and sneered.

'He's the only warrior to be able to fight a dragon and win. He's a master of Shang art, more powerful than even Duke Roger himself. He's…what are you laughing at?'

The girl was laughing. She was laughing so hard that there were tears streaming down her face. Reaching out her hand, she gripped Alanna around the chin with strong, supple fingers.

'Forget your delusions about the Shang Falcon, pretty lady.' She brought her face up so it was touching Alanna's.

'Because you are looking right at her.'


End file.
